


Itself In Sacrifice To Change's Fierce Hunger

by Saeva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Courtship, Dubious Ethics, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Morally Grey Harry Potter, POV Multiple, Possessive Voldemort (Harry Potter), Protective Harry Potter, Rituals, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Seduction to the Dark Side, Sentient Deathly Hallows, Sorry Not Sorry, The Deathly Hallows, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), sacrificial magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22000102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeva/pseuds/Saeva
Summary: [Previously titled Through A Mirror, Darkly]When the ruthless king, Lord Voldemort, discovers that there's another in the land more powerful than himself he makes the decision to investigate this strange boy and changes both their lives forever.A Tomarry fairytale featuring strange magics, meddling sentient trees, and two men finding in each other the thing they need most.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 11
Kudos: 280
Collections: Flashing into the New Year





	1. Once Upon a Pathway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jadejabberwock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadejabberwock/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [jadejabberwock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadejabberwock/pseuds/jadejabberwock) in the [flashing_into_the_new_year](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/flashing_into_the_new_year) collection. 



> Beta-ed by the lovely [BrightEyedAthene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightEyedAthene/profile).
> 
> Please note that this has been re-titled. Frustratingly I failed to realise that deleting chapters would irrevocably also delete the comments associated with the chapters. I'm restructuring the story so that the chapters are longer, falling more in account with future chapters, and to help with flow. For anyone who notices their bookmark is tagging a chapter that doesn't exist, that's what happened. I also decided to re-title, obviously. 
> 
> Anyway, I'll be reposting what was chapters six and seven with the new material later today or tomorrow. Thanks for bearing with me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirrors are tricky things. When King Voldemort discovers a rival to his power, Harry Potter, living in the usually uninhabitable Hallows he can't resist the urge to check the boy out. Meanwhile, Harry Potter has found people to be, on a whole, completely lacking, thanks, and Voldemort's not doing a lot to change his mind on the subject.

"That leaves it open for no regret—no fear radiators, lacklove,  
torture even toothache in the end—  
Though while it comes it is a lion that eats the soul—and the lamb, the soul,  
in us, alas, offering itself in sacrifice to change's fierce hunger--hair  
and teeth—and the roar of bonepain, skull bare, break rib, rot-skin,  
braintricked Implacability.”  
KADDISH, PART I, Allen Ginsberg

Itself a Sacrifice To Change’s Fierce Hunger

“Every man carries with him through life a mirror, as unique and impossible to get rid of as his shadow.” - W.H. Auden

As the last of the petitioners filed out their small feelings of gratitude, frustration, elation, and disappointment fled with them leaving Lord Voldemort alone with his own feelings and thoughts once more. Petition days exhausted him, the long, slow hours of managing other people’s feelings and making decisions about the pettiest of minutiae.

The sort he usually avoided by having appointed his ambitious and slippery follower into the role of Regent Malfoy, relying on the power that granted the small-minded man to keep him in line. 

Still, kings must be seen by their subjects. The wizened Dumbledore was useful for very little before his death but he had taught a young boy that much. 

Now Voldemort drew a bath with a wave of his wand, the water bubbling and promising a bone-deep relaxation as he sunk into his nightly rituals. First, though, the mirror… 

_§Rise.§_ The mirror’s frame undulated, raising with a hiss as it twisted into a circle. A snake, eating its own tail. Eternity. He smiled. 

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the most powerful of them all?” 

The cloudy surface boiled, the moment lasting a few seconds, an _eternity_ , and Voldemort narrowed his eyes. Black hair resolved first and green eyes, as he expected, but then… this face was youthful and bespeckled. 

This face was not his. 

_§Are you certain?§_

The mirror hissed its displeasure, the answer more a feeling than any words. It was certain. How fascinating. 

_§Find him.§_

The surface boiled again expectedly and twisted, turning over and over, image after image, as it tracked itself from here to there. And finally a small cabin, practically a shack, in the woods the young man stood, bare-chested, an axe raised above his head for chopping wood. A woodsman? Rivalling him? 

_I shall have to see this for myself._

Ϟ

The edge of the Hallows loomed large, dark and unwelcoming for each path in. But he, who had traversed the Cave of Infernal Death, who had searched the forests of Albania for the Lost Diadiem of Knowledge, who had gone farther along Death’s Path than any had dared before, would not be discouraged. 

He spun his spell of blending, each painstakingly placed layer one moment closer to convincing the Hallow that he was of it, and finally, with a last rustle of displeasure, a path opened to him. He took it. 

Night fell as he walked and, towards the midnight hour, he rested, allowing himself some few hours of sleep while his faithful Nagini kept watch. Towards dawn, he awoke and continued towards the centre of the Hallows. Only one cloaked in pure magic or a Peverell could go so far into the heart of this magic woods. 

There had been rumours… 

Had Dumbledore done it? Had he managed to conceal away the boy who had, supposedly, died along with his mother on the birthing bed? The very incident that allowed Voldemort to take the land without a true fight when good King James died shortly after of heart-sickness (of all the weaknesses).

The prince. Oh! Voldemort smiled, a sweet thing to charm and deceive, to hide away his sense of triumph. If it was … then there were better uses for the boy than death. 

_§I scent him, Master! A two-legged!§_ Nagini’s tail lashed back and forth excitedly. _§I’ll bite him for you!§_

He pet her head. _§Not yet. He may yet be useful to your master. For now, go look, see if it is the boy I showed in your mind. If so, watch him for an hour and return to me.§_

She slithered away at once and he settled for a repose, bringing out a prepared box to break his fast. Some time later she returned. 

_§It’s him! It’s him! And he can speak!§_

Voldemort frowned. He hardly thought the boy would be a mute -- _§To you? Show me!§_

The vision that came when her slitted eyes met his made Voldemort’s very nerves go aflame. The boy could speak to snakes. And he had been kind, offering her the cut-offs from a rabbit he was skinning and pointing her to a rock nearby that she might sun herself on. 

The mirror’s vision made more sense now. The boy was the last of the Peverells from Ignotus’s line. Of course he would have that power. And the cloak. Oh, he should have the cloak. Now Voldemort broke into a truthful grin, more vicious and cruel than his practised ones, and stood. 

Breaking this lost prince should be fun. 

Ϟ

A lot of people had tried breaking Harry Potter over the years, not that a far off king with much more important things to deal with would know that. 

There’d been his Aunt, with her stinging words and sharp blows. His Uncle who, once, tried to drown him in the stream and then, when the stream tried to drown him back, settled for a lot of shoving and overwork. His cousin Dudley, who was too dumb to realise every time he truly injured the small boy in his parents’ care, unfortunate things tended to befall him. 

And as Harry grew the number of people trying to break him grew with him. Dudley’s toady friends greatly enjoyed games of Harry Hunting until, oddly, one by one they fell under the unsettling and inescapable sensation that they, too, were being hunted. The Weasleys, who noticed the bruises and the constant hunger and the occasional slip about things drilled into his head he should never have mentioned, but who never did much more than slip him some extra dinner until his coming into an unexpected inheritance soured his friendship with their youngest son and ended that relationship. 

The townspeople who whispered and gossiped about there was just something not quite right about that strange, quiet boy who lived with the nice, normal Dursleys. Just look at his eyes. Nothing natural had eyes so green. 

Really, pretty much the only humans who hadn’t let him down so far in his short life could be counted on one hand with most of his fingers left over. His scholarly friend Hermione who spent much too much of her time with her nose stuck in a book for his liking loved to teach him new things and found his oddities more endearing than distressing. And his sweet if troubled friend Luna, who he bonded with over bullying, loved to help him explore the Hallows, going out further and farther each time he brought her in. (He might have brought a few of her bullies in too but the Hallows took care of that.)

But the thing that finally found him disgustedly retreating into the forest that had always been his refuge was when a wizened old man came up to him one day. The old man, it turned out, was quite dying from an incurable curse rotting him up from his left hand towards his heart. The man, he said, was a friend of Harry’s dead parents and he, personally, had made certain to have Harry placed in a safe and hidden home far away from his true home. 

See, Harry was a prince. And a wizard (he worked that one out on his own, thanks). And he had a grand destiny to take down the evil wizard and current king, Lord Voldemort. 

Apparently, he’d been hidden away so that Voldemort wouldn’t kill him in the cradle to take out the rightful heir to the throne. And now that he was older and stronger and had come into his powers (and the old man _was dying_ ) it was the perfect time to train him for this destiny. 

Harry did the sensible thing. He said he needed time to think about what this meant, asked the man to come back three days hence, and was sprucing up the decrepit shack he’d found deep in the Hallows by nightfall. If it shrieked a little bit when it was feeling frisky, well, Harry learned how to make a spell of silence right quick. And he put the old man out of his mind save to hope, in an absent sort of way, that the Hallows ate him too. 

Really, people were usually more trouble than they were worth.

Ϟ

Now, on the All Hallow’s Eve after his 21st Naming Day, Harry stretched a runic working over one of two long wood tables and prepared his offerings on the other. Tonight he would go to the blood lake at the foot of the highest peak in the Hallows and light a fire with his offerings to Morgingu. 

He’d found so little of the old teachings even as Hermione scoured book after book for some understanding of his strange skill. Lord Voldemort had, shortly after beginning his reign, collected the old tomes into a library and, it was said, one must prove their skill to him if they wished to learn. 

So Harry survived on drips and drabbles, piecing together the knowledge that remained with the wisdom of the Hallows whispering in his ear and his own innate skills guiding his way. 

» Be kind to the serpent. »

Harry lifted his head to listen for the wind but the Hallows said nothing else. Soon a mighty snake, deep green scales glistening in the sunlight, slithered up the path towards his home. _Interesting._ Snakes rarely used paths. People disguised as snakes, however, would be different. The Hallows warning made more sense that way. 

Harry, after all, was always kind to animals. One might hurt you, if they were injured or cornered or desperately hungry, but they wouldn’t do so with malice in mind. That certainly put them higher than humans. 

_§Mmm, rabbit. I want rabbit. The human’s rabbit smells good.§ ___

__Harry smiled and reached over to the bones he planned to throw out, having little use for them with them being too small for him to easily get the marrow out of. On a whim, he added a tidbit he had planned to eat. He still had plenty. He threw it to the snake, who reared up, startling._ _

___§You’re welcome to those bits. Please don’t steal the rest. And there’s a rock a bit over there --” He pointed with his messy hand. “-- that seems to be a popular place for sunning.§_ _ _

__She eyed him for a long time, her clear eyelids blinking steadily. Finally, her head bobbed and she unhinged her jaw to gobble up the bones, the meat, and all, before going over to sun herself. Harry returned to the rabbit and, when he’d stripped the fat off the skin, collecting it for lamp oil, and left the fur out to dry he cleaned his hands and moved onto tending the herbs he picked for tonight. One strangely behaving snake wasn’t going to upend his plans for tonight._ _

__The serpent left while he went inside for his book on rituals and he was skimming it for the right way to prepare the ritual smudge brush when he heard the telltale sound of footsteps. He checked his knife, sheath nailed in under the table, and only pretended to keep reading._ _

__Anyone who could make it this far into the Hallows on Hallow’s Eve without his aid must be interesting._ _

__

__Ϟ_ _

__

__Harry made a hobby of getting the lay of people. Not judging them, as he had once been sorely judged, but a quick assessment of a person’s intent. Were they in their cups? The easiest sign to measure... Too quick to smile? Too quick to temper? How did they hold themselves?_ _

__Were they looking for a fight?_ _

__This man, whoever he was and however he’d gotten into the Hallows (Harry did not rule out the Hallows felt he needed company -- it kept letting Luna in, after all), did not seem to be looking for a fight. He was clean-shaven and adorned in a plain but finely made cloak with woodsman leathers underneath. A planner, then? Or lucky chance?_ _

__“I don’t get many visitors,” he said, one hand sorting the herbs, one eye kept upon the stranger._ _

__Striding with purpose, the serpent (perhaps truly just a serpent, then) slithering along at his feet until she once again returned to the sunning rock, the man approached. Unafraid even in the heart of the Hallows and very, very interested in assessing Harry back._ _

__“No, I suppose you wouldn’t here,” the man agreed, glancing at the well water still freshly collected and clear of insect life. Then the cup set aside. “May I?”_ _

__Attractive, he supposed. Indeterminate age. It never harmed to start with politeness. “As you like.”_ _

__The stranger drank. “My thanks. It’s quite a walk.” More than a day with no steed. He’d survived the Hallows at night, then. Harry added ‘dangerous’ to the list. “Are you a forest sprite? I heard tales that no man could survive the Hallows.”_ _

__“Tales exaggerate, that’s what makes them tales. I’m a seeker. I find things for people.”_ _

__People in desperate need, missing children, missing parts of themselves, missing wards of protection from those who would do them harm before their good work could be done, sometimes tripped into his section of the Hallows when they thought they were on the much safer path._ _

__“Then you are Harry.” Harry tensed. “I’m seeking something and I heard -- But, as you say, tales exaggerate.” The man only almost smiled, more a sensation of pleasure in the turn of his face._ _

__The wind whispered twisted around him, building and billowing, a whisper becoming a roar._ _

__» You are like. You are mine. Show him that he seeks. »_ _

__Harry settled down his wind-blown herbs, separating them once more. In all the years, in all the times it hid and helped him, the Hallows asked only that he be a good neighbour, take no more than he need, and come back. Come back, come back, always come back._ _

__“What is it you seek?” Harry lifted an eyebrow. “I make no promise of aid but only of secrecy. Whether or not I take up the seeking I tell no one what was requested of me, not to any that ask.” He gestured, a ‘show me’ sort of thing inviting this stranger to lay down his cards._ _

__“I can pay you handsomely for this service.”_ _

__Harry smiled, a little flit of a thing. “The question is less what I shall be paid and more what you shall pay the Hallows. Well, good sir?”_ _

__“An elder tree.”_ _

__No, not _an_ elder tree. _The_ elder tree. Harry straightened. “I see.” The man who had not precisely been slouching but had taken on an air of relaxation straightened as well. The serpent lifted her head. “On the morrow.” _ _

__Slowly, as if Harry were skittish, the man approached the bench with the runic board and the herb bundles. “Hallowmas. I thought the tradition all but forgotten.”_ _

__Harry gripped the underside of the table, as if merely leaning, his finger stroking along the reassuring grip of his dagger as he replied, “Dear sir, we are in the Hallows. Nothing is forgotten here. Lost, sometimes, and hidden more than that, but not forgotten.”_ _

__And the stranger smiled, trailing his own finger high enough above the carved runes to avoid the magic inherent in them. Then he said the strangest thing thus far, “That one is wrong. You have it in reverse.”_ _

__Harry blinked. Well, then._ _

__

__Ϟ_ _

__

__For all that Lord Voldemort could correct the young man’s scripture, the mistake was more a misspelling than a misunderstanding of the technique. As a protective inscription, it would do well._ _

__“Who taught you runic warding?”_ _

__A delicate shoulder shrugged. “It came to me in a dream not long after I came to live here. So far it’s worked.”_ _

__Voldemort hummed. “You will take me to the tree on the morrow, then. Tonight I will join you for Hallowmas.”_ _

__The man frowned, his cupid bow lips pulling down in consternation, but Voldemort ignored him to clean up his herb workings. Those could use some improvement. Soon dinner time came and the boy invited him to join, then they gathered up the materials and set out for a path even more hostile looking than its fellows._ _

__Two hours passed and while Voldemort wondered many things he allowed them to stay in silence. His answers could wait ‘til morrow. At the edge of the day, as twilight began to consider a stay, they reached a lake so darkly red it reminded Voldemort of blood._ _

__Another legend. Another rumour. Another lost thing found. He seemed to be collecting them today._ _

__“This is a good choice,” he praised the boy, who went fetchingly pink about the cheeks._ _

__Between land and water, low ground and high peak, this was an in-between place, a place for ritual, and what a ritual one could do in a place such as this on a night like tonight. Together they gathered the deadwood and the fallen autumn leaves for a bonfire that rose ever higher and more brightly than a natural fire burned. Alone they each set-up a makeshift altar._ _

__So distracted was young Harry, so carefully watched by Nagini for any indication of his attention straying (brought back by a ‘helpful’ question from her slippery mind if he was ever tempted to do so) that he did not see his lord’s preparations._ _

__As twilight fell, the child of the woods began his invocation of Morrígu, calling upon the great huntress to protect the forest. His power grew with burning intensity, heating the cool late autumn air and drawing a shortness in Voldemort’s very breath._ _

__Though that might have been anticipation._ _

__And as the ritual crested, as the lithe young man hunched over, panting, spent in his exertion, Voldemort twisted a sorcery borne of his ancestors and snapped shut his trap. The runic circle warped as a whirlwind and fell upon the young prince’s own circle, locking their magics together._ _

___§I bind you. Your house to mine, your line to mine. I bind you. Your hand to mine, your life to mine. I bind you. For a year and a day, I bind you.§_ _ _

__He really wasn’t surprised when the next words out of the boy’s mouth were, “What. The. Fuck?”_ _

__

__Ϟ_ _

__

__Lord Voldemort raised one unimpressed eyebrow and started, “Well, I --”_ _

__A hand slammed up as hard as a slap and a growled, “I wasn’t speaking to you,” brought some curious instinct of his into play. He meant to glance around, to show they were alone, when the wind began to pitch and wail._ _

__Scattered leaves swirled in the crackling of the bonfire light, a tempest in a teapot, and all around the furious young man naught but calm. The wizardling sighed, lifting to his knees and then his feet, nearly hidden from Voldemort’s view, and his shoulders rolled back before he disappeared entirely from sight._ _

__And then, as suddenly as it came, the wind retreated. The leaves taking to gravity once more as the other man watched him with a quietude of spirit that might have made other, weaker men worry for their safety. “I wasn’t speaking to you,” said Harry, now a sigh. “Within these woods I am safe from magical attack. That is the agreement between the Hallows and I, its favoured child. But it doesn’t think what you just did is an attack.”_ _

__“You disagree?”_ _

__“Well, my magical knowledge is a bit spotty, I’ll admit. But, correct me if I’m wrong, you went ahead and bound our fates together from this All Hallows’ Eve to next Hallowmas without bothering to ask. Would you see that as an attack?”_ _

__“Oh, undoubtedly.” Voldemort spread his hands in front of him, a challenge, and the young man snorted._ _

__And hummed. “You never did give me your name but… it’s Voldemort, is it not?” He cocked his head. “I’ve never seen a picture before but the Hallows knows all that walk its path and your name is Voldemort… and Riddle… and Thomas… my Lord.” The last he smirked._ _

__Voldemort smiled back, taking a step closer and another. The slighter man stayed firm. “I prefer Voldemort but my lord will certainly do.”_ _

__“Did you know I was prophesied to kill you?” The king’s chest froze and the green eyes, nearly glowing in the sputtering remnants of twilight, widened with mirth. “You didn’t!”_ _

___I should have let Nagini bite him._ Voldemort stood silently, judging, doubtful in a way that encouraged men to explain themselves, but Harry merely waved a hand, dismissing the idea. _ _

__Finally, because he had no choice without wreaking violence, Voldemort dismissed it too. “It hardly matters for a year and a day.”_ _

__A quiet hum and the boy knelt down to start cleaning his circle, collecting the herbs and flowers to take to the fire. He smudged out the runes copied onto the shore of the blood lake and rolled up the thin strip of carved wood he’d used for his compass as if Voldemort weren’t even there. And a generous lord such was he that Voldemort allowed this instead of wringing the answers from his very mind._ _

___§The hatchling scents of anger, Master.§_ Nagini said, twining her way around his booted feet. _ _

___§He’ll adjust to his change of circumstance.§_ Harry’s back went ramrod straight and a rock flew at Voldemort’s head, who caught it lazily. From behind his head, in the opposite direction from the boy, and yet another direction from which the boy had been looking. That made this the cheeriest Voldemort’s ever been at having something thrown at him. _Clever boy. That’s a battlefield technique. I wonder where he learned that._ “Eventually.”_ _

___§He smells like he wants to bite you.§_ _ _

__She’s not wrong and he slicks a hand down her scales, flicking his hand out to warm a rock nearby where she settles in with a hiss of pleasure._ _

__“Who prophesied your killing me?”_ _

__Harry laughed. “Haven’t a clue.”_ _

__“Then how do you know there is a prophecy?”_ _

__“Old, old man, quite tall, never met two colours he didn’t enjoy putting tog --” A rather larger rock slammed into a boulder nearby. “I see you know him then.”_ _

__“Dumbledore,” he hissed. “Where is he now?’”_ _

__“Dead, probably. His hand was rotting. Also, it’s a tad bit possible the Hallows ate him. It does that to people that annoy me.” Harry pursed his lips in what, in a boy a few years younger, might be called an adorable pout. “Present company excluded.”_ _

__Voldemort smiled gently, a kingly smile one might say, and told him, “Behave as you wish but consider this. For the next year, you’ll want for nothing and, assuming we can come to terms, one year from now you’ll walk away from me with a tidy sum and your safety.”_ _

__“Or a marriage contract.” He blinked and green eyes blinked back at him. “That was a betrothal binding you did back there, wasn’t it? That’s why it’s a year and a day?”_ _

__Well. Damned if it wasn’t._ _

__Somewhere Abraxas was laughing and hadn’t the faintest idea why._ _

__

__Ϟ_ _

__

__Harry longed to rage, to throw his anger at the presumptuous king out like knives, but he packed those knives away for tending later. Tonight he had a task to do._ _

__As the night went on Voldemort, for all his lordling manners and general attitude, became helpful, if not solicitous, aiding Harry in the burning of the bonfire and the smudgings. A second circle was laid, deep into the late hours, as the quiet clock in his head began to tick over to midnight. To Hallowmas proper._ _

__His nose scrunched up in distaste and he blew out a breath, noting Voldemort’s curious look and careful examination of the circle. “I see no sacrifice.”_ _

__“I don’t like to bring one with me, alive and awaiting its fate as the magic builds. It seems cruel,” Harry admitted. “But I can put it off no longer.”_ _

__“Or -- Must this be by your hands?”_ _

__He frowned. He’d laid the circle. It was his magic imbued in the sand and the runic stones he’d brought from home, his blood smeared in careful droplets, but _his_ bloodletting was done. _ _

__» Let him. » whispered the Hallows._ _

___I’m still angry with you,_ he thought firmly at it but human anger often meant nothing to the ancient power. Even his. “No, you can do it. It has to be a mammal. It cannot be a predator.” _ _

__“A rabbit then. Or rodent.” He nodded and Voldemort strode towards the woods, raising his hands in a complicated twist that brought, with little difficulty, a hare to hand. Male, at the tail end of breeding age, the best choice all considered._ _

__Harry felt the rapid tat-tat-tat of the buck’s heart, frozen in its fear. Magic swirled again… to soothe it and the soul stopped screaming out in terror._ _

__“If it dies of fright its all for naught,” Voldemort said quietly, still soothing the hare, drawing it closer into the circle. He stepped expertly over the magic and knelt quite carefully in the centre. Harry had made a circle for his size and Voldemort was quite a bit larger._ _

__The incantation he chose meant nothing to Harry, in a tongue he didn’t recognise, but the Hallows’ thrummed with its approval of the choice so he said nothing. A knife appeared from inside the cloak and the rabbit screamed before falling silent. The plop-plop-plop of innards splattered in the circle, splattered the king’s fine cloak, and lightning crackled in the distance._ _

__A thunderous boom and then a flash as bright as day, the flash of faces long gone and going. The first time this happened it terrified him but he understood now. Why the Hallows’ asked it, why it must be done._ _

__Tick-tick-tick. Harry picked up his satchel and took it to a large, flat stone at the foot of the mountain._ _

__“What’s that there?” Voldemort asked, coming up behind him slowly._ _

__“The rest and nothing more. I need to work now. Bring me the rabbit and lay it there. Then be quiet or be gone.” He could see, when he glanced back, in the heat of the man’s face and a flash of his eyes that this lord, this king, was not used to being ordered around but Harry turned away. This was his home and while the Hallow might not have protected him to his liking it would, it had promised, protect him from any attack of malice._ _

__Apparently, Voldemort simply hadn’t been malicious enough in _binding_ Harry. He and the Hallows would simply have to agree to disagree on that. _ _

__From the corner of his eye, he saw the rabbit being laid at his feet and he reached down to pull out the heart, a phantom beat in his palm from the magic still stirring through it._ _

__He put the heart down and reached into his bag. First, the pomegranate the Hallows provided him, in its whimsy (living in a sentient forest could be a bit troubling on the nerves), and then the apple picked from his own tree._ _

__The thrice-tied branches of yew formed into a triangle, the holly berries plucked from the first bloom and preserved, settled into a circle in the centre. From the corner of his eye, he saw the rabbit being laid at his feet and he reached down to pull out the heart, a phantom beat in his palm from the magic still stirring through it. That he set on the bed of holly. And finally, a single branch of the elder tree breaking down the middle._ _

__On one side he set the pomegranate, on the other the apple, and then he went to wash his hands in the lake, ensuring that his palms looked stained with blood._ _

__“What is this ritual?” Voldemort asked quietly, no demand in his tone._ _

__Because he did not demand Harry would have given him an answer -- if he could have. Instead, he shrugged. “I dreamed it in the month before last Hallowmas. I knew then I should do it.”_ _

__“You don’t know what it does?” Chastisement brokered in that tone and Harry peered at him, in the deep darkness of the night, lit only by the bright blaze still burning on the shore._ _

__“Says the man who bound himself to the one prophesied to kill him without knowing it.” He laughed, a short, quiet thing. “I know enough.”_ _

__Lightning crashed again, a howl of wind, and the thundering not of storms but of hooves. Voldemort’s eyes gleamed even in the low light. “Tales say the Hunt rides here.”_ _

__“Sometimes tales tell true. Now, shh.”_ _

__Harry unwrapped the dagger made of basilisk fang, the blade carved, the tip frightfully sharp, and the edge whittled down with magic to do as thin as a blade of grass. A deadly thing in any hands but the handle carved for his and changing, ever so slowly, as his hands grew into a man’s size. Another gift from the Hallows._ _

__Carefully he carved open the pomegranate, allowing the blood red pulp to fall into the left side of the triangle. Then he split the apple at the centre, plucking out the seeds with the tip of the dagger until they rested in a small pile on the right side of the triangle._ _

__Balance in all things._ _

__» Now you know what you must do. »_ _

__Harry breathed deeply, did not allow the storm inside of him to rise tonight of all nights when storm would call to storm and bring down the Hunt. Stupid match-making, ancient sentient forest pain in the arse._ _

__He stepped back and spoke in magic -- not words, precisely, nor sounds, exactly, but hearable, knowable to the powers here. He wrapped the altar in his magic and watched it ripple, the air above it thick and swelling, choking out their vision and stealing the breath from their lungs. And then, finally then, when he thought he might collapse, that his lungs might burst, the magic broke and air came back into the world._ _

__He gasped, hands on his knees, his head hung down as he regained himself. By the time he straightened Voldemort had already reached for the … charm?_ _

__Harry leaned forward. The offering _was_ a fourth the size it began and solid in its nature. The pomegranate seeds had dried and thinned, creating a wall, and the apple seeds had sprouted into the thin film of an apple with seeds set in. He stared at it, grabbing Voldemort’s hand away before contact could be made, and probed it with its senses. _ _

__The Hallows. Of course. It would never let him go._ _

__“It’s a vessel charm,” Voldemort said with wonder._ _

__Harry sighed. “I will sit vigil until dawn as I intended to do. At dawn, we leave for the elder tree.”_ _

__“And the charm?”_ _

__He smiled mirthlessly. “It wants to be worn. If you wish to have it --”_ _

__“I do. For you.” The older man went over to his pack, pulling out a thin cord made of braided leather. “I brought it on an impulse. It belongs with that. It belongs with you.” He put the object together with careful hands and magic so delicate Harry could only imagine how it was done, and then he was placing it -- without asking, of course -- around Harry’s neck._ _

__The charm flared with warmth as he tucked it underneath his thick autumn sweater and his fingers played over the cord._ _

__“You need a teacher,” Voldemort told him, his hand reaching out, heedful not to make a sudden movement, careful as he raised up Harry’s chin so their eyes could do nothing but meet._ _

__And Harry did not shy away, nor lower his eyes, nor give a single inch of ground, physical or mental, as he said, “I need a library.”_ _

__Voldemort’s lip quirked. “I have one of those too.”_ _

__

__Ϟ_ _

__

__The young man remained curiously unfrightened of him._ _

__Perhaps it should be frustrating, the lack of fear and the constant sense of irreverence flitting around the young magician like a cloak. Lord Voldemort knew that in another man he would find it infuriating and bring his will to bear down on the behaviour._ _

__For now, however, it felt a moment of great expectation as he slipped the charm over the boy’s head and watched him stand, without hesitation or capitulation, and demand access to the library.._ _

__“On three conditions,” he said and bright green eyes narrowed. “Come now, you cannot pretend to misunderstand the significance of such, or the power in bindings of three.”_ _

__Harry blew out an irritation breath. “Name them, then.”_ _

__“First, you are my guest and, as you yourself have made point of, under the aegis of the marriage veil. You will behave yourself accordingly..”_ _

__His mouth twisted, his words like daggers as he drawled sarcastically, “Be the demure little princeling who wouldn’t dare contradict your whims?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“And if your people do not follow rules of guesting?”_ _

__“They will.” A dark eyebrow rose. “But if they were to harm you it would be handled. Harming you would be as good as violating my word and I would not allow a slight to my honour to go unanswered.” Voldemort smiled. “And I trust you to defend yourself accordingly as well. But do not attack. Bring their slights to me, if you will, but defend only.”_ _

__For a moment the wind seemed to whip at them, not the howl of the Hallows but the rage of the man in front of him. “I will have total access to the library.” He nodded and Harry bit out, “Fine.”_ _

__“Second, you _will_ allow me to teach you.”_ _

__“An hour a day. No more. I’ll be left to my devices for the other hours,” he countered. “I’m not a pretty bauble to be bought.”_ _

__Voldemort smiled softly. Not bought, no, but won? Well, they would see how that went, would they not? “Finally, at the end of each day we are bound you will tell me one true thing about the Hallows.”_ _

__“One true thing.” Green eyes closed and he slowly breathed out, the creeping sense of watchfulness filling Voldemort’s own sense. “Alright, but only so long as I remain in your home.” His eyes opened and met Voldemort’s own, darker ones calmly. “If you wish to know more I suppose you’ll have to convince me it’s worth staying.”_ _

__Yes, fascinating._ _

__“Agreed,” Voldemort said and eased a hand up onto the boy’s shoulder before he kissed him. Harry’s instinctive jerk aborted and his weather-roughened lips parted in surprise but Lord Voldemort could be kind. He pressed no further. “Sealed with a kiss.”_ _

__Youthful cheeks, flush with anger and a bit else, warmed Harry’s face. “Don’t do that again.”_ _

__“That?” Oh, Voldemort had every intention of doing that again. Someday, soon, the boy would crave it from him._ _

__“Touch me without warning me.”_ _

__That gave him pause and he nodded seriously. “As you say. Sleep some now. I’ll keep the bonfire going until dawn.”_ _

__He expected a fight but Harry merely nodded, touching the cord around his neck again, and then his reaching for his rucksack. A bone-deep chill pressed over the land, pushing them closer towards the fire, and after a moment of hesitation practicality won out to Voldemort’s surprise. “Would you sit? With your back to the stone here some of the chill will be off you and you’ll gain heat from the fire. Then I can sleep here--” And now he pointed to a spot that would be against, around even, Voldemort’s hip, “-- and neither of us will suffer.”_ _

__“Alright.” But Voldemort brought his own pack over, pushing into its extended space carefully as the boy took his too-thin fur roll and pulled it tight around him. “Here.” Voldemort pointed to his thigh. “Lay your head there.” And the boy slowly, frowning, did, and he snapped the bear fur roll over the small frame. “I will keep vigil.”_ _

__He heard nothing more on the matter and when he looked down, minutes later, he saw the boy burrowed close, his face peaceful and less weary in sleep_ _

__The wind howled in the distance and then the night grew hot and thick around them, the very air feverish, and,_ _

___**» You will feed my earth, your bones mulch for my creatures, if this boy comes to harm in your care. »** _ _ _

__He hummed thoughtfully. “Duly noted.”_ _

__

__Ϟ_ _

__

__He allowed his fingers to carefully trace along the pale throat, considering the Hallows threat. The urge to tighten his hand, squeezing his fingers around that vulnerable flesh rolled through him, destroying the possible threat and battling with the Hallows on his own merits, but…_ _

__It seemed such a waste of potential to snuff this life out before it even grew… and it would grow under his care. He’d tend the boy’s gift, encourage it to flourish, encourage _the boy_ to flourish, and reap the rewards. _ _

__In the low grass, now that the risen power started to wane, the electrical charge fading slowly, Nagini slithered up to them. _§The hatchling has sense.§__ _

__“Hmm?”_ _

___§You are strong mate. You can protect your nest. Protect your eggs. Protect your hatchlings. That is most important to humans. I have seen this.§_ _ _

__Lord Voldemort bit back on his laughter. He always thought he’d be more a snake in that matter. If he had any young, he did not know of them. He would have provided for them, unlike his own spiteful father, but the raising would be left to the mother._ _

___§I haven’t the patience for hatchlings. Human hatchlings grow slow.§_ _ _

__She hissed, a sound rather than any wordings, and coiled on the young man’s legs. He made sleepy noises. “Whasit?”_ _

___§Nagini wishes to share your warmth.§_ _ _

__“Is that her name?” He flailed out one tanned hand and stroked over her neck. “‘Is fine.” He pat her once more and pulled his hand under the furs. Nagini coiled between the other man’s stomach and Voldemort’s own legs, demanding a spell for warming, and went quiet._ _

__For a long time, the king merely watched them, thoughtful at the wizardling’s easy acceptance. Even his most loyal followers, who came with him on his campaign to take the throne, feared Nagini and none would sleep so easily with her so near._ _

__Perhaps this betrothal idea had something to it._ _

__

__Ϟ_ _

__

__“No.” Harry’s mouth set in a mulish frown and he spun around, the walking stick they’d found somehow waiting for them on the path away from the lake held tightly in one hand._ _

__“Yes.” Voldemort let out a slow breath of frustration. “Think of it as nothing less than what is owed. It is my binding that brings you with me now --”_ _

__“It is the Hallow’s wanting that put us on this path.”_ _

__“Beyond this path, past the elder tree. Returning to the castle.” Harry grimaced. “And as it is my responsibility I will see you properly outfitted.”_ _

__“I like my clothing.”_ _

__“I won’t forbid you wear it but you must have some finer things for the court.” He glared again and spun back around, stomping a bit heartily down the path. “You swore.”_ _

__He hissed without meaning and muttered, “I regret it already,” but unlike the last two attempts at reason, he did not say ‘no’ so Voldemort graciously pretended he hadn’t heard._ _

__The walk remained silent most of the way, another half hour or so, before the boy stilled and sighed. No wind made movement, as it had shortly after the little wizard rose this morn, No strangely whispering woods. Simple stillness._ _

__And a sigh._ _

__“I can go no further. The elder path is not my own. Go past, alone. I will wait with Nagini until nightfall. If you have not returned by then, you won’t be returning.” Voldemort lifted an inquisitive brow at the strange man but received only a shrug in return. “You were the one who wished to come. The Hallows said to bring you so it probably won’t kill you.”_ _

__“How reassuring,” he drawled._ _

__Harry’s lips twitched. “Difficult to reassure fools.” Then, more seriously, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”_ _

__Voldemort looked down the path, made dark grey in the shade of the late autumn canopy. He’d come seeking nothing but this boy. The words he’d said had come to him in the way the urge to bring that leather cord had come. And though he’d followed that instinct then he could ignore this one now._ _

___**» No, Wizard. Your legacy, your claim of**_ **master _of the darkest of arts. Were those a boast? The claim of a weak child wishing to appear strong?_** _ _

__For a moment a surge of anger raced through him, the desire to tell the Hallows, as ancient and as unknowable as they might be, that he was his own master. But…_ _

__It was not a boast. He _is_ a master of magics unheard of for generations and this… In the end, Lord Voldemort never could step down from a challenge of his competency. He would master this too. _ _

___**» Then walk the path. »**_ _ _

__He stepped into the grey light and looked down at the young wizard who’d now taken a seat on a nearby patch of grass. Harry stared steadily back at him until Voldemort turned away, toward the Elder tree, and began to walk._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort takes the Elder Path. Harry takes a path towards his past and his future, but is mostly interested in the books. Harry's introduction to court starts with attendants, who have opinions about their new Consort-to-be. 
> 
> This chapter includes material that was already posted and an additional two scenes (~2500 words) at the end of new material.
> 
> [This](https://www.etsy.com/listing/747348312/indian-handmade-stylish-kurta-soft-kurta?ref=shop_home_active_27&frs=1) is the kurta Harry's wearing. I picked it over a less formal tunic for the court because I do think stricter styles would appeal to Voldemort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on additional chapters should be about this size and posted approximately once a week. Enjoy and, please, don't forget to comment if you liked this, or noticed errors that could use correcting, or have concrit you'd like to share. I really appreciate each and every comment; they help keep me motivated to write.

Even though dawn only recently passed in the place outside the path the close-in branches, narrowed to a single file, failed to hide the change in temporality. A dusk took over the world and, then, twilight. His breath went out in cold bursts and what had been the chill of a blowing wind became a crystalised icy stillness. 

Lord Voldemort did not look back -- he would not see the Hallows’ favoured child waiting behind him for his return. Instead, he knelt, bringing his pack to his fast hands, and removed a fur-lined cloak. He left the rucksack and, with it, he removed the enchanted blade sheathed at the small of his back. The protective, silver-lined cuffs released with a hiss and he added a knife from his boot to the tidy pile. Disarmed and, for once, more easily settled by it, he clasped the cloak around him, donned leather gloves, and continued on his path. 

The chill turned to snow. Pure white and glittering in the low light, it covered all things but the stone path. 

_**» Before there were Peverell kings, »**_ said a voice more melodic and raspy than the Hallows. _**»There were three brothers. Clever brothers some might say, though one was brash, one melancholy, and one, perhaps, a bit too clever for his own good. Legends lost now named the brothers inventors. »**_ Around him the twilight shadows warped, the shades of three brothers solidifying against the tree line. _**» But it would be truer to call them enchanters and one day the brash brother, the eldest brother, came to enchant a challenge to Death. »**_

The shadows swirled and suddenly, as if it had stood there all along, a towering elder tree in full spring bloom -- leaves flush green, creamy blossoms, and at the limbs bunches of small, black berries. A shift. The impression of a face, feminine and dainty, peeked out from the trunk. His attention drew to a small table sat in front of the tree, low enough to force Lord Voldemort to kneel to it to examine the contents. 

A small knife with a carved handle, a clay cup filled with the bitter-sweet brew of elderberry, and a small token with a stag on one side. 

_**» Spin the token. »** _

Though he wished answers now, he played the spirit’s game. Hard-won experience from his youth cautioned him towards amusing the Power. And so Voldemort picked up the token, made of a heavy wood and no larger than a gold galleon, and flipped it as you would a coin. 

He caught it, slapping it down on his palm, and pulled back his hand to reveal a serpent, the flare of a King Cobra’s hood carved in clear detail. When the trees said nothing he turned it over to examine the stag. 

Instead, he found a fox. The voice laughed lightly, the sound of a wind chime twisting, and then,

 _ **» Three drops of blood should do it. Not on your side. On the fox. »**_

He sighed, but quietly. You could not rush a nature spirit. To attempt so might convince it to abandon you or to intentionally drag out the task they planned for you to undertake. He picked up the knife, the blade ever so sharp to draw blood a barely a brush, and let three drops fall on the fox’s mouth. 

_**» Put it into the drink.»** _

It sunk to the bottom the moment it touched the rust-red liquid. 

_**» The eldest brother wished for power unending. Not only dominion over the living but mastery of the betwixt things. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.»** _

Voldemort’s stomach clenched as he looked over at the shadow people, one brother, in the lead, growing large. In the corner of his eye, the world changed. In one glimpse, he saw the elder berries wither, the leaves dry, the branches heavy with snow. 

_**» The second brother sought a doorway between this world and the next. And deep in the forest, an ancient yew carved itself a door, binding body and spirit and magic.»**_

A second shadow grew. Then between one breath and the next, his hand curled around the cup and lifted it. He couldn’t hear the clink of wood against the clay even when he swirled the brew. 

_**» Drink.»** _

He hesitated and a long, bare branch swayed out to brush his ice-cold cheek, a caress. 

_**» Or leave the path, young magician.»** _

With a sigh, he downed the blood hot tea, the bitter taste of elder berry and the sweet taste of syrup both tempered by the cloying tang of blood -- far more than the mere drops he placed in. Drained to the last drop he found no token at the bottom. 

_**» The youngest brother wanted not for power -- his power-hungry eldest brother had too often shown him the cruelty of ambition. And he wanted not for distant lands, as his elder brother showed him there was no happiness in forever searching, a spiritual hunger that consumed the seeker and drove the seeker to consume the magics of those he found to keep his doorway open. »** _

A sudden dizziness drove him to drop back on his heels, kneeling now low to the ground, hands bracing himself in the snow. 

_**»That would be the tea.»**_ The chiming laugh again and the bare, rough branches stretched round him to embrace. 

Too late he saw the branches made a cage. 

“What about the third brother?” 

_**» He asked for sanctuary. And so the yew never led the elder to him and my path never opened for him and the holly, which blooms year-round, hid him from the obsessions of his brothers.»** _

Voldemort cocked his head as the voice, once clearly before him, of the tree, began to echo around him. A second voice, deep as a grave and unmistakably masculine, added, _**» One night my brother, who had fed me in blood and suffering, stepped through the door I always offered.»**_

The elder, again, _**» I gave my brother spell and source, magcs unknown of others, and watched him conquer in my name, dedicating those deaths to me.»**_

And, strangely, Harry spoke, his voice -- the forest speaking in his voice? A hallucination? What was in that tea? -- gentle. “Bullies believe they can strike out with no end, but the youngest brother watched one of his tormentors become the destroyer of a generation and he watched the other delve into darker and darker arts until he forgot what light was. So he helped one into a doorway and the other into a grave.

“And so begins the reign of the Peverells.” 

_**» And so begins the birth of me. Always ready, always open to lost children and my princes, »**_ the Hallows murmured. Voldemort could hear both the Elder and the Yew in that voice now -- and a third voice, less defined. _**» The ring around your neck, the stone is unusual, is it not?»**_

Voldemort pulled the chain out into the open, staring at the rough black rock bound in wire. 

_**» Crystalised sap from my tree so the Peverell could always find me, »**_ said the deep voice of the yew. _**» Place it on the altar.»**_

He dropped the chain, breathing deep as the forest spun around him. The elder released him with one last caress, branches retreating -- no, moving. His eyes drove up and he saw himself centered now in a clearing, the usual chill of Hallowmas upon him. 

An echo of the stone clinking against the wood shocked through the clearing and the sound of rustling leaves rose. The elder, leaves bright of autumn, in front of him; the yew, thickly covered, the echo of a door etched into the gnarled trunk, to his left; and the cheerful ever-present green and red of the holly to his right. 

_**» Peverell,**_ the holly said, voice bright, neither masculine or feminine, and thankfully no longer _Harry’s_. _**» And so you have found us as your once many-fathers found us. The conqueror’s heart, the scholar’s soul, and you dare ask us to entrust you with the boy. My boy. »**_

And Lord Voldemort shivered, his good cloak doing less than nothing to stave off the chill of that voice. He released a slow breath, watching the roots of each tree grow, twist their way up the altar to the stone. 

“The boy will come to no harm from me so long as he holds to his bargain. He wishes to learn.” 

A lash of wind slapped across the clearing. _**» You bound him. You took!»**_

He had no defence for this so did not try. “And bound myself to see to his care.”

 _ **» To his learning,»**_ said the yew.

 _ **» To his protection,»**_ agreed the elder. _**» To aid him and give him strength.»**_

 _ **»He is strong enough!»**_ argued the holly. 

“Why have you brought me here?” Voldemort voiced his largest concern. He’d brought himself to the _boy_ but had no prepared for what came from his mouth when the boy asked what he sought. So why, precisely, was he _here_?

_**» To see.»** _

_**» To guide.»** _

_**» To warn,»**_ the holly spoke last and in the sound of it, he heard the threat to make him into mulch. 

_**» And this.»**_ Tiny branches, no bigger than twigs, as flexible as saplings, broke off from the roots at the top of the altar and twined around the stone. A thrice wound band, of braided wood, and the shiny black stone set within. _**» A ring for your betrothed.»**_

The elder hummed a soft song, the kind of such he’d often heard Abraxas’s wife, Delphina, hum to their son Lucius. _**» And this.»**_ A violent crack and a branch, knotted three times with unnatural smoothness and thrumming with magic fell onto the altar. _**» A conduit to me, to us, to the Hallows. Use it well, conqueror.»**_

He touched the wand carefully and it brushed back at him with a warm flood of magic as a band of markings appeared around his left wrist. The hand he used for channelling. 

_**» You may still learn, conqueror.»**_ Where the elder said it with affection the holly made it an insult or a curse. _**» May see there is a kinder path.»**_

He might but Lord Voldemort doubted it within his own mind. He was aptly named conqueror, quietly uniting the serpent clans so that when the opportunity of a dead king presented itself they could roll over the other lands to seize power. Nothing -- no one -- stood against him for long. He revelled in the fight, in breaking the spirit out of his enemies. 

But -- 

“I will take care of the boy when I bring him to hand. He will be treated well.” 

The chiming laughter. The elder tree. _**» If you can tame him.»**_

Lord Voldemort could tame any! Had he not shown that skill even as a boy? 

_**» Go then, little conqueror. Go tame lightning. One year and one day you have.»**_ The shadows twisted again, brightening to midday. 

“Or else what?” 

But only the wind answered him, a howl as the world spun and spun. Finally, gratefully, all went black. 

Ϟ

Harry wasn’t certain what to expect after the king disappeared down the elder path and the path disappeared behind him. Each time before Harry waited on this rock, passing time woodworking or, once, darning his shirt after the supplicant got handsy. And each time at nightfall the path would reopen unto the world and some great bird of unnatural size -- a starling, an eagle, a rook -- would deliver a great heap of bones for casting. 

Those bones, cast by him, directed by the Hallows, made the skeleton of Harry’s protective weavings. They made him safe. 

He couldn’t decide what to feel about the likelihood that the king would soon be feeding his enchantments. The man held magic to spare, of course, but he’d demonstrated that by _binding_ Harry. And that binding gave Harry reason enough to hope for the usual result. 

Still. Without Voldemort, he wouldn’t gain access to the library and answer he sought therein. And people were bound to wonder about the king’s last whereabouts, which might lead to uncomfortable questions coming his way. 

And for all he’d arrogantly bound Harry, displaying his aptly gained title of conqueror king without shame, he’d shown an unnecessary gentleness overnight. Not for fear of the Hallows -- anyone who feared the Hallows would have tried to lure Harry out of them before attempting a binding -- and so for no other reason than he felt like it. Just as he felt like… like he lacked wariness of Harry even in the grip of the Hallows. He treated Harry normally, which was to say differently from anyone else in Harry’s life. 

Even Hermione and Luna, for all he loved them, remained wary of the Hallows’ bond with him. He’d never have let them see a ritual done _with_ the Hallows.

Nagini shifting drove him away from his melancholy thoughts. Spread out on a sun-baked rock nearby, her coils -- each as thick as his calf and, in total, longer than he was tall by a metre -- shimmering in the sunlight, she remained completely unaware of her master’s likely fate. He wasn’t concerned for his safety with her but he rather hoped he wouldn’t have to kill her if this went as expected. He returned to weaving a charm of feathers and mouse bones he’d found nearby, humming a tune for clear sight that Luna taught him, but kept an eye on her. 

As his stomach began to grumble for the midday meal and he spied around for a good picnicking spot, the path quite suddenly opened. 

_§Master?§_

Harry stood, placing a hand gently on the top of her head as he approached the path. If he needed to grab her as the Hallows’ bird swooped down it’d be best to do it from behind her fangs. But no bird came. For long minutes nothing came and Nagini’s _§Master?§_ s became more plaintive. 

“Shh, shh, let me go check on your master.” She moved with him and he sighed. _§No, stay.§_ And as all serpents did with speakers she obeyed. 

Harry stepped forward slowly, staff at the ready, but no magic or mundane threat stirred in the midday wind. Some fifteen yards down the path the packed dirt opened into a grassy clearing. A perfect circle clearing supernaturally free of rock or shrub but otherwise mundane to his sense. Inside it, splayed out in such a way he might only be sleeping, lie Lord Voldemort on a fur-lined cloak. 

A closer look and, yes, his chest rose and fell with breath. 

The moment of relief made Harry _furious_ that he might be reassured at his binder’s health and he lashed out with a foot a moment later. The body jumped, an unconscious grunt coming from the lain out form, and a moment after that shame, hot and heavy, rolled through him. He swallowed bitterly and sat down hard on the lively, soft grass. 

Short minutes passed before Voldemort gasped in desperately, hands moving into defensive magics even before he sat. 

“You lived.” 

“You didn’t slit my throat in my sleep. I’m half-surprised.” He rubbed a hand over his face, as if to check for stubble, and missed part of Harry’s blanche.

“I wouldn’t harm a man who couldn’t even defend himself.” 

And Voldemort, without the haughty lift of his chin and imperious brow, without the quiet, constant thrum of his magic, had seemed much smaller somehow. Almost delicate with his fine bone structure. Attractive, but… so much less than he was when aware and brimming with power. 

The other man searched the ground near him for a moment. Then lifted a ring made of plaited wood and… onyx? A black stone. “For you.” What? “The stone’s been in my family for as long as anyone can say.” What? “A ring is appropriate for a betrothal, is it not?” 

Harry’s face flushed with warmth. “This isn’t -- It’s not -- You did it to bind me! You betrothed us to give you control!” Harry stared at the ring, hand clenching with how much he wanted to take it. The call of its magic… “It’s enchanted,” he hissed. 

“By the Hallows.” 

A warm breeze curled over his shoulders and he sighed, taking the ring. The wood warmed to his touch. He spun it on his finger and sighed. “By the Hallows, hmm?”

 _ **» A path forward. »**_ Wind whipped around Voldemort, around the _king_. _**» A path back.»**_ The ring chimed a perfect note, a beautiful sound, and he sighed again. 

_As cryptic as ever, thanks._ But he put on the ring and Hallows hummed with pleasure as it settled, perfectly sized for his hand. 

Something complicated flitted over Voldemort’s face before being replaced by a pleasant mask. The man stood, reassuring his snake he’d never been at risk, not to worry. 

In the back of Harry’s mind, the holly laughed and laughed and laughed. 

It turned out that packing up one’s life was a much simpler task than Harry appreciated. Minutes to reach his home of the last five years, the Hallows doing its twisty turning best to give him a direct path home. An hour to settle his cottage for an extended absence, protected by his wards and the nature of the Hallows. Another few minutes to reach town, Voldemort’s shoulders tensing as a walk that one way had been over a day was, this way, less than a quarter-hour. 

“Does it do that a lot?” 

Harry snorted. “When it feels like it. I need to stop at a friend’s cottage.” 

But Hermione was out, visiting with the youngest Weasley boy. Harry’s lip curled up in annoyance as Ron had once been his closest friend, the Weasleys a refuge for him, and he’d introduced Hermione to them. But then Ron showed his true colours, again and again, unable and unwilling to ignore what he considered unearned gifts of Harry’s. Harry would have given anything, anything, to have the family Ron did instead of the magical skill, instead of the chest of gold and jewels the Hallows led him to, instead of the _Hallows_. 

Ronald Weasley was a bloody fool and Hermione deserved better. 

His jaw must have clenched because Voldemort raised a brow, but he waved the concern away. “I’ll leave a note. For her to follow.” The other man’s mouth began to open and Harry glared. “I need a friend. And she’s always wanted to see that famed library of yours.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” He humphed. 

Voldemort’s hand raised behind him but, despite Harry’s tenseness, came down gently, stroking along his thin back the way the man might stroke Nagini to reassure her. But Harry let himself take the comfort. “The tailor then, since you insist?” 

Voldemort snorted inelegantly. “To call that man a tailor. No, leave your note. I have somewhere else to bring you.” 

When Voldemort said ‘bring you’ Harry imagined a carriage or, perhaps, a horse, though he’d seen no evidence of either so far. If he didn’t know, with certainty, that this was Voldemort, the King, then he wouldn’t have guessed it. What king travelled alone? Without guards or pages or people to tend to his errands? 

One that could apparate. 

Harry’s breath caught between one space and the next, one moment in the small town of Godric’s Hallow and the next… The streets bustled with people, noisy and living, going about their tasks, and he could feel the oppressive stretch of human lives, human minds, as far as his senses reached. 

They were in a _city_. “Where?” 

Voldemort’s lips twitched. “Not how?” 

“You apparated us. Where?” 

“Hogsmeade, of course. It’s where my personal tailor has a shop.” Voldemort gripped his chin, pushing them into eye contact and his sea-green eyes raged like an ocean storm, overpowering, as he asked, “Why did you call it that?” 

“I… don’t know.” Harry shook his head best he could with the strong fingers still gripping his chin. “It’s what it’s called. It’s what I’ve always called it.” The ‘please’ stayed bitten behind his lips, bitten on the tip of his tongue. “Let me go.” 

And the other man did, for now. “Tailor first.” 

Madam Malkins seemed like a kind enough woman, tutting about her shop and giving Voldemort a smile when he entered with Harry and Nagini tagged behind. “What’s this then? Oh.” She tutted. “I see the problem.” 

His back went straight, his gaze as hard and immovable as rock, and she hurried to apologize. 

Voldemort sighed slightly. “My betrothed is used to outfitting himself. He needs some casual wear and some court wear.” 

“Yes, yes, of course.” She smiled at Harry. “Well, up on the stool, dear. Let me get your measurements.” 

As soon as he stepped up, Harry felt the edges of magics probing him, searching for his measurements. In the background, perhaps in the back of the shop, thread magics and two glowing lights. Dimmer than him or even Luna and Hermione, but absolutely present. Mages. 

“He’s underweight,” Malkins said, her voice heavy with disapproval as she eyed her king. “Your majesty.” 

“You only call me that when you’re upset,” Voldemort said with some amusement. “I’ll fix it, not to worry.” 

And so they carried on, talking about fabrics and cuts, about his measurements, about Voldemort’s plans. Voldemort did try, once, to ask Harry’s opinion, but Harry said only that he wanted it to be comfortable to wear. He honestly didn’t care. 

And he suspected that he should probably get used to being talked about and around. 

When they allowed him off the stool he sat heavily in one chair, his staff leaning against his knees, his single pack at his feet. Harry agreed to this. Voldemort bound him, yes, but Harry could have stayed in the Hallows. He could have made Voldemort stay himself if he wished to make anything of the binding, but…

 _Why did you want me here?_ he thought, clear and precise, his fingers wrapped around the holly of his staff. 

_**» We have sheltered you as a seedling needs. Protected from too much sun, too little water, sheltered from the roughest winds, allowing for you to sprout, for your roots to find purchase, for you to grow into a sapling who will not blow over in a strong wind, will not be unrooted. »**_ He felt the warmth then, the almost painful sense of affection that the Hallows offered so unreservedly and humans offered with difficulty. The staff and the ring pulsed with protectiveness. _**» But you are no longer a sapling. by human understanding.»**_

His stomach bottomed out. _Oh._ Like… parents. He swallowed hard. 

Voldemort’s hand touching his cheek startled him. That he got that close without him striking out or noticing unsettled him. But he allowed the touch for now. “Are you alright?” 

He could see the way Madam Malkins took this in, the wheels turning in her head, her thoughts cooing at the king’s protectiveness. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Tired.” 

“Of course. We’re done here. I’ll take you to the castle next, where you can bathe and eat and rest before the necessary meetings have to occur.” He gave the man a sharp look, who raised his eyebrows pointedly. “I’m bringing back a betrothed. There’re necessary rituals to that.” 

Yes, it would have been much, much easier to stay in his forest. 

Ϟ 

The Greengrass family mightn’t be the first of the Great Serpent Houses to hear whispers of a betrothal but they’re certainly not much more than the fifth. By the time Harry has bathed and rested and ate they already know everything anyone else did. 

He’s from a place unknown. A family unknown. The king went out two days earlier, the day before All Hallows’ Eve, alone, without leaving instructions to anyone, and returned with a man. 

He’s achingly thin (according to Malkins) with calloused hands and a hard-toned body (the personal servant, Winky, gossiped about it in the kitchens and Dobby told the Malfoys, who couldn’t keep their mouths shut, as usual, so everyone knew). From work. True work! Otherwise, he’s unremarkable. 

And young. This is the king, of course. If he wishes for a young consort no one would be so gauche as to comment on it, even if he’d chosen a true youth of still tender age. It sounded like the man is Daphne’s age or thereabouts. Twenty-one. Young, yes, but not worth gossiping about, according to the Mistress Greengrass, who’d sniffed judgmentally when that tidbit leaked in. 

But Daphne’s age. Which meant that by an hour past lunch Daphne’s stood in the antechamber to the throne room along with a gaggle of other upstanding ladies and gentlemen her age. Many of them were in her classes at the Academy, some sharing her courses in the arcane arts while others stuck to more mundane skills. Draco Malfoy, in particular, peacocked around the chamber with a puffed chest and a raised chin that says ‘my father is a favoured advisor of the king, of course I will be given this honour’. In many situations, she might even agree with that. 

In this one, she gave him fifteen seconds before he opened his mouth about the man’s breeding or bearing or family name and ruined his chances. 

After everyone who was, apparently, coming trickled in, some with trinkets or true gifts, some no doubt intending to whisper promises, Mistress Lestrange strode into the chamber and clicked her toe on the floor twice. The room immediately quieted. “You will go in, in groups of five. The _consort_ ,” she said the word with a bitter twist. Everyone knew she’d once vied to be consort to the King, years before his triumph for the throne and before her parents married her off. “Will be choosing you himself. The king has spoken: 

“Be genuine.” 

The room swelled with the sort of nervous twitter Daphne remembered all too well from exams, the magic ebbing and flowing as excitement became tempered. Genuine was nothing they were trained for, certainly. 

Then Mistress Lestrange called the first five names, Malfoy and Daphne’s included, and they moved to the front of the antechamber. The door opened, the passive reading for dangerous intent or weapons woven into the frame brushing over her, and then they were in. 

She braced for the king. The overwhelming, cloying sensation of magic, a pool of inky, endless depth, hit her hard and forced deep breaths as she slowed her walk. Her talent, to read and manipulate currents of magic, made standing in the presence of the king a struggle, his conqueror’s spirit and war magics fighting to drop her to her knees. 

So distracted was she that she nearly missed Malfoy’s sneering speech: “This is the consort? He looks like a peasant.” 

Magic spiked. But not the ocean of the king, not a storm that would drive her to her knees she was certain. Instead, it felt like the deep and dangerous woods, like a path not taken, like the growl of an animal in the shadow of a tree. It danced, branches weaving over Malfoy and then away. 

“No. Dismiss him,” the consort spoke. Quietly, but certain. 

Malfoy reddened. “Who are you to dismiss me?” 

“My betrothed,” the king reminded, almost gently. “Rabastan, remove your nephew.” 

“At once, my lord.” She felt the angry spike from the mellower Lestrange and watched him take Draco’s upper arm in a grip hard enough it would bruise. He spoke, low and vicious, and as they passed she heard the edge of ‘wait until your father hears about this’. 

And then, the distraction buying her enough time to truly brace against her king’s might, she took her first good look at the consort. 

He did, she’d admit, look at a bit peasant-y. His tanned skin, rough at the hands and with a jagged white scar above the brow, didn’t resemble the smooth, soft skin of her peers. He wore a courtly robe, a rich blue silk with stitched gold accents, over a fine outfit of white slacks and a more muted blue linen kurta. He would have looked perfectly at place in court if it didn’t feel like the first time he’d ever worn anything like this. He kept tugging at the robe absently, as if trying to make it hang differently. 

Settled on the king’s knee, more or less, he looked exactly like the unremarkable young man she’d heard about. If you couldn’t feel that magic. 

She took another deep breath and settled herself, making her own magics small and shielded as she joined the line. Pansy Parkinson tried simpering flattery, of course, but the consort merely frowned and shook his head. Theodore Nott approached awkwardly, taking a knee before the throne, and quietly, carefully, listed the attributes he could provide the young consort-to-be. Blaise tried flirting, of all things, and smiled pleasantly when the king dismissed him. And, finally, her turn came. 

She stepped up before the throne and curtsied. “My lord. I’m Heiress Greengrass. As with Theo I’m the same age -- we were tutored together. My specialities are in ward crafting and spell creation. I -- ” 

“That’s alright. I’ve heard enough,” the consort said suddenly, frowning slightly when her head shot up. She hadn’t even started. “I only have to have two, right?” 

“Two’s the minimum, yes,” the king said with a sigh. 

“Her, uh…” 

“Daphne, my lord.” 

“And Theodore Nott.” The consort smiled. “I’m Harry. I don’t know if anyone bothered to tell you my name.” 

“Harry…?” Her lips quirked. She was curious about the family name. 

“Just Harry.” His head cocked and his eyes went slightly narrow. “You can feel my magic, can’t you?” 

She sucked in a breath. Of course people knew of her talent, to one degree or another. The king knew entirely, her parents all too eager to point out the advantages of having a Reader in his council. But this man spoke as if he knew and she felt, again, the sensation of branches. “Yes, my lord.” 

“Harry. Please.” The smile dropped and the magic rose. “Are there many others who’d feel it here, in your court?” 

“No. The girl’s skill is stronger than most of her kind.” The king hummed slightly. “Why?” 

“You won’t speak of it, Daphne, will you?” Now Harry hummed, the rustle of trees behind the sound, and she felt pressure rising and rising and rising until she couldn’t breathe. “I can trust both of you not to gossip?” 

She nodded, swallowing thickly, and Theo’s eyes darted over to her, going wide at her response. ‘Say yes,’ she mouthed. 

“Your secrets are safe with us,” Theo did say. “I don’t think she can breathe.” 

The magic pulled back and she gasped in breath, Harry -- just Harry, ha! -- rushing to her side to check on her as she bent over, panting. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I’ll be more careful. I’m not very used to people.” 

Theo stepped closer and helped her stand, his firm, composed magics at her back a steadying presence. “Did you live somewhere rural, then? Before now?” he asked quietly, without any real pressure to answer. 

Perhaps that’s why Harry did. “I lived near Godric’s Hollow. A cabin there. Before that, a simple mundane village.” 

How had he gone unnoticed for so long? Even if he was from a nothing family or, one of those strange flukes from mundanes, Godric’s Hollow had any number of magical families that should have brought a boy with this talent to the king’s attention before now. The favour it could have bought… 

She swallowed again and cleared her throat. “Well.” She glanced around. With Rabastan Lestrange gone, having escorted Blaise out before she approached, it was only the four of them in the throne room. “A secret, then.” Her face smiled without thought. “Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry. We need to get you a different servant.” 

“What? Why?”

“Winky’s a terrible gossip. I see why we’re needed,” Theo said without judgment. “You can trust him with us, my lord.” 

“I do hope so, young Nott. Harry, why don’t you go get to know your new attendants? I’ll dismiss the others.” 

Harry looked back at Lord Voldemort and bit his lip, appearing painfully young for a blink before steadiness reasserted itself. “Alright. I’ll play the game. Come on, then. I should probably go over dinner etiquette _before_ dinner.” He laughed and shook his head. 

“That we can help you with,” Daphne told him, smiling truly. 

Ϟ 

As they walked out of the throne room Theo did his best to watch their new charge without being obvious about it. When his father all but dragged him out of the Nott Manor library this morning, insisting he put on his best court clothing, he hadn’t expected it to end in becoming an attendant to the new royal consort-to-be. 

It was an interesting choice. His grandfather, who’d been friends with the king since they were young, had been surprised that when Lord Voldemort returned with an unknown magic user it’d been a betrothal instead of a completed handfasting. The king wasn’t known for being indecisive and, truly, who would dare say no to being the king’s Consort? Theo wondered that himself. 

“You’re thinking very hard in my direction,” the Consort (to be) said lightly. He’d been listening to Daphne speak about what tonight’s welcoming dinner might involve but now he turned his attention wholly to Theo. 

“I apologise, my lord.” 

The Consort frowned. “Not your lord.” The frown grew deeper and the other man said, “No, that’s not true, then, is it? As the potential Consort.” 

Daphne’s lips twitched but not in humour. Theo wondered if she found her position as disconcerting as he did. “I think you’ll find people will treat you as the Consort _now_.” 

The Consort rolled his shoulders, adjusting the hang of the robe again. “Why do you think that?” 

Daphne didn’t speak up immediately and Theo, noticing the darkening expression on their charge, searched for a political way to answer. “Er. Lord Voldemort, that is, the King, he, well... “ 

“He doesn’t often change his mind or his course, my lord,” Daphne said. “If he’s chosen you then we’ve no reason to believe he shan’t stay that course.” 

The Consort cocked his head. “I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet. I’m not certain I will.” 

“You’re… uncertain about the king?” she tried. 

And he laughed. “I barely know the man. I’m mostly here for the library. I’m self-taught, magically and otherwise, and if the price of a better education is entertaining the thought of marrying then... I suppose I’ll discover whether I like the king or not in time.” 

Theo’s chest constricted. He could respect the reasoning of the other man -- his own family library paled in comparison to the king’s, as all magical libraries within the realm did -- but this made things much more difficult for Daphne and himself. If the Consort did not stay, did not choose to marry the king, they might well be blamed for it. 

His eyes met Daphne’s and she nodded, the slightest motion of her head. They’d do their best to convince the Consort to stay, to fall in love with their king for their own sake and the sakes of their families. 

“I’d still rather you call me ‘Harry’ than ‘my lord’. I understand you’ll be spending the most time around me?” 

“We’re here to aid you in anything you need, _Harry_ ,” Daphne said with a playful curtsy. Theo would leave charming the Consort to her; he could help with the library and learning parts much better than teaching or showing grace. “Whether that’s teaching you the magic that we, ourselves, learned in the Academy, giving you information on people in the court, or how etiquette here works. Our whole job is to help you.” 

That made the Consort -- Harry -- bite his lip. “And you don’t mind? That I’ve taken you away from whatever job you had before? I didn’t -- Voldemort insisted I needed attendants. That it’s expected of me. But I could release you and find others who are more interested if you wish.” 

He sounded earnest and Theo, at least, believed it, but none of it mattered. Being released so quickly would only bring a set of questions neither of them would want to answer. 

_The Consort needs help,_ he thought fiercely. In a way that Theo could help with. That Daphne could help with. And he needed to be protected until he better understood the politics of court. 

Theo made eye contact with Daphne again, who smiled and looked to Harry. “Harry, we’re both heirs. Our jobs, such as they are, are to represent our family and help their station in court. Being your attendants is good for that. It gives us prestige. When you become Consort -- if you do -- our families will gain influence. And both Theo and I have integrity, which is more than I can say for some of our peers.

“We’ll help you.” 

“We’ll help you,” Theo agreed, putting his hand forward on Harry’s arm. Daphne followed and a small, strange burst of magic covered the hallway, a blast of warm air across his skin and the feeling of electricity for only a moment before it faded. 

Harry smiled, broadly and with a certainty that seemed to have no source. “I believe you. Alright then. You were talking about greetings, Daphne?” 

She nodded. “Everyone that couldn’t meet you today is going to send greeting gifts, to welcome you. There’s some specific responses you can give to tell them how you feel about that. We can go over them before dinner.” 

As Harry started back down the hallway, towards a wing that no one but family, guards, and servants typically entered Theo’s anxiety settled a little. Daphne was right. This would be good for their families. 

And, anyway, Theo wanted to see where this would go with the man who would dare say ‘no’ to Voldemort. It was bound to be interesting.


End file.
